


Games

by dreadwulf



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, F/M, Knifeplay, Rape/Non-con Elements, Roleplay, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 22:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreadwulf/pseuds/dreadwulf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabela likes to play rough, and she has a special game for Fenris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Games

**Author's Note:**

> From the Dragon Age Kinkmeme. This is a fairly dark fic involving violence, BDSM, knifeplay, and generally rough sex. There is no actual non-con, but some role-playing of a rapeplay scenario, so trigger warnings apply. 
> 
> This is a story about facing your demons, and trust, and playing with fire. With the right partner, you might not get burned.

This was how it started.

Isabela’s wrists tied behind her back, using the special knot she had taught him.

The room dark, emptied of comforts, more of a cell than a bedroom.

Isabela on her knees, in the corner. A cloth tied tightly around her mouth, gagging her.

Fenris has left her alone for some time, and when he returns the game has begun. Originally he was required to speak to her, to call her names like bitch and slut, but he did not enjoy doing this, so he changed it. Now he says nothing to her as he approaches, not even hello, and it seems this works just as well.

He stands over her. She looks up at him from the bare floor, an expression in her eyes he cannot interpret. If she hadn’t asked him to do precisely this, he might have thought it fear. But of course it wouldn’t be, because Isabela was never afraid. In one rough movement he grabs her upper arm, which is not armored as it normally is. He pulls up on her arms tied behind her back so that they bend painfully and arch her back until she is forced to rise. She winces against the gag, making sounds of protest unfamiliar to him. He grimaces at this, but knows it is part of the game.

Once he has her on her feet he pushes her up against the wall, pinning her hard with the flat of his hand against her collarbone, his talons resting against her soft neck. The position is awkward for her, bent around her bound arms, and her torso is thrust outward, her breasts nearly escaping her simple cotton shift.

He makes a sound low in his throat, appreciating that sight. Then he begins to untie her shirt.

She struggles against him. Her efforts are not perfunctory, and he has to work to keep her in place. But she is bound, and he is strong. She kicks at him with bare feet. Uselessly at first, and then her knee connects with his groin. That hurts, and he slams her back against the wall roughly.

She huffs at him, outraged, and her breasts rise and fall enticingly as he frees them from her shirt. He cups one of them with his gauntlet, enjoying the way the supple flesh bulges around his metal fingers. He is careful not to squeeze too hard, even though she has told him not to hold back. He would not want to mark her lovely breasts with his clumsy grip. He palms the nipple, feeling it pebbling against the bare flesh of his hand. With both hands he pushes back against her, grinding her into the wall so that she cannot move at all against the bulk of him without being cut by his sharp edges, and he can tell by the catch in her breath that he is doing well.

He was encouraged to improvise at this point, so he does. His mouth moves to her neck, and he bites down hard.

Isabela bends against him and shouts a protest into her gag. But she does not give the sign that she has had enough, so this is only play. He snakes his arms around her back and bites again, and rolls his hips against her. She is so soft this way, without all her pouches and guards. He wants to take her now, badly, but he must bide his time. Still, there are things he can do.

His metal hands wander down to grip her arse, forcing her to meet the thrusts of his hips. She has to stand on her toes to keep balance, and her shoulders lean back against the wall. Her eyes are drowsy now, heavy-lidded. Her bare breasts rub against his leather. The cloth of her pants begins to tear beneath his fingers as he ruts against her, harder and faster. It becomes hypnotic, the taste of her sweat on his tongue, her breath in his ear, her soft body slowly relaxing against his hard metal armor.

When he has had enough of that, he releases her all at once, and she pitches to the floor with a yelp.

Fenris follows her down, his claws grasping. He has her down on her stomach, and puts a knee to her back. Her shirt tears around his claws when he pulls, with a satisfying sound, and he pulls it off her in pieces until her back is bare and gleaming with sweat and the both of them are out of breath.

He reaches metal fingers under the waistband of her pants, cold against her skin. She wriggles underneath him until he pushes her down warningly with a knee. It is a struggle to pull the trousers around her considerable hips, the way she is squirming, and he gives her long scratches in the process. But he gets them down around her thighs, with her ass cheeks hanging out over them, and then he releases her to undo his own trousers.

Isabela startles when she feels his cock against her bare bottom, and grunts. She rolls from side to side until his knees settle around her, and his hands hold her shoulders and she can no longer struggle. Then her head settles to one side and she looks back at him, her eyes glittering in the dark.

At first he only rubs against her, between the cheeks of her arse, between her thighs, spreading wetness all around. Her firm, athletic build is more apparent from behind; her well-muscled legs and firm buttocks flexing beneath him drive him wilder. He contains the sounds of his own pleasure, trying to be silent, in command. Her soft skin feels so good against his cock. He likes it better when she moves with him, when she smiles and groans with him, but he can feel from the wetness between her legs that she is enjoying this very much and this inspires him to continue.

He rises up to a kneeling position and tries to bring her with him. She doesn’t come. She stays down against the floor, her mouth in a hard line, eyes still glittering. He pulls on her arms until her shoulders lift off the floor, but still she doesn’t rise. Then he pulls her by her hair. She shouts against her gag with real rage this time (but does not give the sign) and her arse comes up, awkwardly, and her cunt is exposed and gleaming and he can find his way inside.

He grunts, and settles his gauntleted hands around her thighs, and he fucks her. Hard, pounding thrusts that knock her head against the floor. Her arms are still tied behind her back so that she cannot brace herself and she can’t possibly be at all comfortable, but she is so, so wet, and she begins to mewl and writhe.

With his hands, he pulls her back and forth again and again to meet his thrusts, his cock pulling entirely out of her and driving in again through her slick heat, against the place deep inside her where he knows her pleasure could be found. He pounds in and out of her and she hangs from his grip and sort of flails in midair, and her breasts swing freely beneath her and she begins to come. Wailing, bound and gagged, pulsing hot and wet all around him, she begins to come.

Her wails nearly unman him, make him ready to finish, but it is not time yet, and he just barely holds on. Keeps pushing into her, harder and faster, and pulls at her hair until she shrieks.

He sees flashes in the dark, sparks behind his eyes, lyrium flares, stars.

Isabela has gone loose now, hangs limply from his grip. He continues to drive into her, his own orgasm building up hugely and painfully around him until he is in a kind of panic, barely breathing, frantic in his thrusts.

Suddenly she drives back against him, hard enough to push him back on his heels. He moans as she pulls off him, fluids leaking down around his member as it bares to the air. In his incoherent state he cannot think to block her as she brings one knee up underneath her and drives it back hard into his sternum, kicking him backwards.

Fenris quickly loses his balance and falls back with a good amount of force. His head hits the floor with an audible smack. Dazed, he stares up at the ceiling for a moment, tasting blood.

This is what happens next, when she’s had enough of the first act, and is ready to give back what she’s gotten. 

He can see her slipping out of the ropes easily, twisting her wrists and wrenching them off. It is all in the knot she had taught him, one that would hold fast when wanted and loosen easily when not. The rope falls to the floor and is quickly followed by her bandana, which had been tied across her mouth as a gag. Then she rolls onto her back and reaches for her pants, bunched around her knees, and pulls them off smoothly.

She is naked now, and nearly invisible in the dark. He pulls into a crouch, not about to make it easy for her. She is faster and more agile, and he is accustomed to fighting with a sword. He does not doubt that she will pin him, but he does not intend to go down quickly.

They are still playing now, but the game has changed.

She is circling around him, in the low stance of one of her duels. He braces for her charge, but it does not help. She twists seemingly in midair, diving around his back instead of his front and has him around the neck before he even knows what’s happened.

“Take the gauntlets off,” she orders, her elbow solid under his chin.

He resists, and she grabs one of his ears and twists until his vision turns red. When she lets go and his vision clears, he unbuckles his gauntlets and lets them fall to the floor, one at a time. Impossibly, he is even harder now, his cock twitching against his stomach whenever she overpowers him.

She squeezes his neck, and he sees stars again. He struggles, backing along the floor until he feels her hit the wall behind him, and keeps driving her back until her grip loosens and he can breath again. Then she is grabbing his balls and squeezing, hard, hurting terribly.

Fenris howls, and bucks against her grip, against her merciless fist and the arm around his throat.

_(remember this is Isabela, only Isabela, Isabela would not hurt me)_

When his struggling slows she takes his arm and pulls it up, up into the air, and cold iron slaps around it. He gasps, and even though he knew it was coming a real panic jolts through him at the sensation of being manacled again, being bound.

_(this is only a game)_

But the iron is real, and it is really chained to the wall, and when he pulls against it his arm can only go a few inches before it snaps back. He cannot pull it off, not like she could pull out of the ropes. For him the game is different.

She takes his other arm _(Isabela its Isabela not him_) and claps the iron around it quick as a flash, and dread pounds through him with the adrenaline and the electric sizzle of his lyrium setting his skin afire. He is a prisoner again, trapped, helpless. His arms hang above his head and he struggles to rise but can’t quite do it, his legs have gone boneless on him and anyway she is on top of him now, she is everywhere.

Her hands are confident now, unclasping all of the buckles that hold his armor in place. She strips it off of him faster than he could do himself, and soon he is bare.

His brands flash now, warningly. He hates to bare them to the air and hates even more for her to see them, but her hungry expression keeps him hard. She touches them, runs her fingers over him, and he snarls at her angrily. He hates this blank feeling of her fingertips over the nerveless veins of lyrium, like someone tapping at your fingernails, but unnatural, unclean.

"Stop it!" he snaps, and she ignores him. Not the magic word.

She grins and licks the long vein over his heart, and the lyrium sizzles like an electric brand in water.

"That tickles," Isabela giggles, and sits back. She picks up something she has laid beside them and plays with it, something long and thin.

His lyrium burns angrily and the room lights with it, turning his captor an eerie blue and he can see that Isabela has found her knives.

Fenris is tempted for a moment to say the word that would make this stop. When the knives came out before he said the word immediately, and she had unchained him without complaint and they had finished things off more peaceably. But now he is curious, even as he is afraid. He wants to see what she will do.  
  
She smiles at him, bringing the knife to her lips for a careful kiss. She looks like herself now, not the stranger he caught a glimpse of earlier. She looks mischevious and dangerous and his cock twitches painfully, still wanting her, even as she is frightening him.  
  
 _(Isabela would not hurt me)_  
  
But she could, oh yes, she could very easily hurt him. She is straddling his hips on the cold hard floor and tip of the knife is pointing into his chest, balancing onto the palm of her hand. One quick shove would end him. She balances the knife with one hand, smirking, and with the other she prepares him, grasps his still-hard member until it stands straight up and she can impale herself onto it.  
  
She switches the knife to his throat as she mounts him. The cold flat of the blade laid against his adam’s apple and his heart raced at its touch. It was not something he thought he wanted, but he did admit a ( _sick_ ) thrill to her wielding them this way, the ( _wrong_ )( _familiar_ ) element of danger they brought pulling him to the edge so much faster than anything else could do. He could not move at all now, his arms trapped above him, the rest of him trapped below her. His body was not his. It was all hers.   
  
“You’re going to come for me,” Isabela growls.   
  
She fucks herself on his cock, up and down, using her powerful legs to drive herself down onto him. Her back arches, her head thrown back, one arm still guarding him, only the tip of her blade threatening his soft throat. One slip would be a disaster, but Isabela never slips. He knows it. She would only hurt him if she wanted to.  
  
 _(Does she want to?)_  
  
Her head throws from side to side as she finds the rhythm and bites her lip. Fenris can only groan and endure as she takes him into her again and again and again. There is no escape for him but to give in.  
  
“Come for me,” she orders him.  
  
He is hers to command. The threat of death. The order to comply. The urge to resist. The identical urge to submit.  
  
No. No. No no no no  
  
(YES)  
  
He does not stop her. He does not resist. He gives in. Gives everything.  
  
He comes; he cannot stop himself. His hips jerk helplessly up again and again and he cries out. He is spilling into her uncontrollably and shouting as he does it, almost sobbing. He spasms bonelessly under her and empties out until there is nothing left, nothing at all, neither thought nor intention, nor even self, only the animal shell of a body that knows nothing but pleasure.  
  
His vision goes entirely white, and for a while he knows nothing.

When he is aware of himself again, Isabela has already taken his arms down from the wall, and is collapsing against him on the floor, sweaty and tired.  
  
He feels his heartbeat hammering in his chest, and her face soft against his shoulder. His skin prickles in places where she has scratched him, and the back of his head aches. He is going to have bruises. It is a pleasant pain, though, one that returns his body to him.  
  
 _(Yes, this is mine. I am here.)_  
  
 _(I have survived.)_  
  
When he can manage it, Fenris sits up, shifting a lightly-snoring Isabela with him. There is a bed on the far side of the room, and they should probably get to it before they both fall asleep.   
  
He is allowed to be gentle to her now, if he is careful. In the immediate aftermath of her passion she would be loose and relaxed. He gathers her up easily from where she had collapsed over him and pulls her up into his arms, laying her against his shoulder. She curls around him so naturally, as if they had done it a hundred times instead of just four (five now). He struggles to his feet, his knees still a bit wobbly from their efforts, and stumbles to the bed.   
  
This is the only time they truly share a bed - after one of these “games” - instead of either one or the other of them disappearing as soon as the sweat cools from their skin. Perhaps they are both too exhausted to seek another shelter after this, in body and in spirit. So he lays his pirate queen in her bed and crawls in beside her, pulling a blanket over them both, and it seems she smiles at him sleepily, though she would claim otherwise later.  
  
Fenris plants a kiss to her forehead, lightly. She had rolled her eyes at him the first time he did that, but now she only murmurs something unintelligible and turns her face into his chest, so it seems to be all right.  
  
She is already asleep, and he watches her for awhile.  
  
Fenris knows he will probably never learn what demons she is exorcizing with this ritual. But it’s all right. He can understand this sort of thing. He hasn’t told her any of his own horrors, either, but somehow she knows just what to do for him - not anything he would have thought of himself, but somehow exactly what he needed. 

For once, instead of laying awake for long hours with dark thoughts chasing each other endlessly, he sighs once and lets it all go, and follows her swiftly into sleep.


End file.
